Courage's Lullaby
by TakesTwoToTango
Summary: After Marina and Sinbad's disappearance, Proteus continues with faith and duty, as he always has. Until one day a horse thief tries to run off with one of his prize horses, and they embark on an adventure that would rival even one of his famous friend's.
1. Horse Thief

Ch 1: Horse Thief

It had been a trying day, one of many as of late. As Prince Proteus led his hunting stallion Archimedes back to his stall, he could only ponder at how much more complicated his life had become in the wake of the Book of Peace's arrival. Not only did the security required of such a monument exponentially add to his responsibilities, especially after Eris's theft, but Proteus's near miss with the executioner had made his father realize just how much more his son had to learn about ruling and all that it entailed.

And with Marina's "mysterious" disappearance, the delegation was desperate to find him a wife and secure an heir. It was mildly embarrassing, but well worth the look that had flashed in Marina's eyes when Proteus had released her from the betrothal. He wondered about Sinbad and Marina often, hoped them safe and well and, for Marina's reputation's sake, married. Should they ever appear in a city where Marina would be recognized, things could be complicated and humiliating if that ring of gold was missing from her left hand.

Proteus's proclaimed ignorance of Marina's current whereabouts infuriated the delegation, but he refused to divulge the information until either he or Marina were wed. Until such a permanent ceremony was completed, Marina could easily and legally be ripped away from Sinbad. After all, he was only a pirate, and betrothals, especially those of state, were not broken solely by the word of one party. In the eyes of Syracuse, Proteus and Marina were still engaged, and there was nothing Proteus alone could do to change that designation. And at this rate, Marina's father, who would have long ago ripped out all his hair had he not already been bald in anxiety over his daughter's health and reputation, could be caught these days muttering, "impugning her honor" and "headstrong child" under his breath. The prince couldn't help the rush of guilt that choked him every time he faced his worried, almost father-in-law. Archimedes bumped his black muzzle against Proteus's shoulder, knocking him out of his train of thought and back into the present.

"All right, Archimedes," Proteus chuckled as he stroked a hand down the gray's face, rubbing his coal-toned muzzle with affection. "After you grain, no doubt." The horse bobbed his head as Proteus led him into his spacious stall, too well mannered to pull or rush. Slipping the leather halter from Archimedes's head, Proteus ran an appreciative hand over Archimedes's well-muscled hindquarters as the horse attacked the grain waiting in a small bucket. "I've been lying more than I care to lately, Ark. Why is it whenever I have to lie, it has to be for Sinbad?" Proteus wondered aloud to the preoccupied Archimedes, a small huff pushed through his nose, a wry smile twisting his lips.

Proteus left the stall with a sigh. Riding was his only time of peace these days, and he always mourned its ending a little. Several of the horses in the stables were his, but Archimedes was one of his favorites—the well-mannered one. Another was Ramses, a giant blood-bay that was as discerning with people as the most vain of aristocrats, but had slashing hooves and teeth instead of scathing words as weapons. He had injured many a groom, and few could enter his stall and not rush out terrified or bleeding.

Making his way to the red horse's stall, Proteus started to whistle an old lullaby, announcing his approach long before coming into sight. It calmed Ramses, and it started their visits off on the right foot. His other favorite horse was also munching greedily on his supper, hardly looking up when Proteus entered the stall and moved to lean against his side with an indulgent look on his face.

Proteus spent some time rubbing the horse and murmuring to him, taking care to pay attention to his legs and ears, the areas about which Ramses was the most sensitive and shy. However, the horse was coming along well, and barely flinched as Proteus's hand gently, but firmly, passed over his fetlocks and the edges of his ears. Finally stroking the wide arrow-shaped blaze that streaked up Ramses' face in reward, Proteus left the horse to the rest of his dinner. Proteus would have to change for the meal with the delegation and several notable ambassadors tonight, probably bathe as well…

His thoughts were swept away, however, at the distant shouts of the guards. A slim, poorly dressed young man spun around the corner of the stables, barreling past Proteus with only a passing glance at his face before shooting into Ramses' stall. "Wait!" Proteus cried, terrified for the youth's life. Sprinting back to the stall he had just quitted, Proteus winced at the horse's bone-shearing scream, praying that he wouldn't have to explain the youth's death, whoever he was, to his father. Dymus had never much cared for Ramses, and this would just be another excuse to be rid of the animal his father often termed "a menace and monster straight from Hades."

But just as he reached the stall, the door burst open, Ramses streaking out, nostrils flared and eyes white-rimmed, the youth clinging to his back like a burr. Knocked to the ground as the swinging door caught him against the shoulder, Proteus watched wide-eyed as the lad steered Ramses down the aisle by halter and lead rope alone, the horse moving with all the agility and speed of the southern winds.

Gathering his senses in the crack of a whip, Proteus leaped to his feet, dashing to Archimedes's stall. The horse was pacing at the door of his stall, his grain left untouched and his ears almost painfully pricked. Haltering and leaping up to mount his horse in record time, Proteus urged the horse out of the stall and down the aisle at an almost dangerous speed, all the while muttering under his breath, "What is Zeus's name is he _thinking_?"

As they cleared the stables and Archimedes's hoof beats started to clatter on the cobblestones of the main courtyard, Proteus barked snarling orders to the confused guards. "Close off the grounds! No thief gets away with my horse!" The guards were a little shocked—they have never seen Proteus this… ruthless before. But, then again, no one had ever tried to steal one of his horses before. And one of his favorites, no less.

Despite Ramses' head start, Archimedes was one of the few horses in the stables that could match the red horse in speed. They were half brothers, their sire the same famous war charger. But Archimedes's dam had been of racing stock, and lent her edge of speed to her son. Ramses and his rider soon came into view, veering into the woods when the youth realized that the gates were shutting around them. Proteus narrowed his eyes. Few could navigate safely out of the woods into the surrounding capital. Who was this boy to think he could find his way out of the royal hunting forest?

Proteus ground his teeth as the thief pushed Ramses over a wide stream, his breath catching in his throat as Ramses stumbled slightly on the landing. The prince vowed that if Ramses was hurt during this ordeal, he'd take it out tenfold on the thief's hide. And that was before the boy was shipped off to jail for horse thievery. A few years might be tacked on for the fact that he'd taken one of the prince's mounts.

Archimedes and Proteus were slowly gaining on the pair ahead, smoothly making their way through the obstacles of the forest, Proteus ducking a low-hanging branch with ease. Archimedes spent much of his time in the forest, while Ramses had been bred for other grounds. The red horse was gradually becoming more and more resistant to his rider's cues, his fear and confusion at the strange surroundings grinding away at his edge of attention. Proteus was shocked that Ramses hadn't bucked the thief off yet. After all, some of the best riders in Syracuse had been bucked off Ramses; but the youth was riding him well.

Breaking into a meadow, Proteus allowed Archimedes his head and urged him with a small tap of his heels. The horse stretched out, eating away at more of Ramses' lead with ease and racing hooves. The lad stonily refused to look behind him, although Archimedes's approaching hoof beats were growing louder.

Despite his strength and power, Ramses was a muscle bound beast built for agility and stamina on the battlefield. Archimedes, on the other hand, was a sleek, fleet arrow made for speed, and was by now almost abreast with his brother. They slid back into the dappled shade of the trees, the pair of horses leaping over a log as a unit. Just as the distance between the two horses closed, the thief kicked out, striking Proteus in the ribs. Catching himself before his seat started to slide, Proteus desperately tried to suck down the air the air the thief had knocked out of his lungs. Confused by his rider's retreat from the hunt, Archimedes hesitated for several crucial seconds, and Ramses started to pull away.

Gritting his teeth as his head swam briefly, Proteus drove Archimedes forward, catching up again easily. Completely livid, Proteus waited until the two horses strode in unison, then brought his cocked elbow back against the thief's shoulder. The youth reared back in pain and loosed a strangled breath. Proteus took the chance as Archimedes's longer stride drove him forward, latching a hand on Ramses' halter and hauling back simultaneously on the bay and gray's halters. Both well-trained horses slid to a stop, their hooves buried deep in the thick leaves as their heads and hindquarters dropped to balance the slide.

With a whistle and the low command of "Up," Proteus drove Ramses up into a towering rear. His seat already unsettled by the hard, sudden stop, the thief tumbled off Ramses backwards, landing in the soft leaves with a grunt. Ramses dropped back down heavily, both horses standing utterly still, muzzles close and heads low as they heaved for breath. The horses had traversed over a mile of difficult terrain at a full run, and while neither trembled from exhaustion, they were close. Patting Archimedes's sweaty neck, then Ramses', Proteus nudged Archimedes forward at a very slow walk to cool both of them down. Ramses would follow close without a lead, tired beyond a fussy mood. As he circled, Proteus pinned dark, angry eyes on the youth.

The thief slowly stood, wincing as he straightened. After a fall like that, the strongest of men would be hurting. The small grove was silent but for the panting of the horses and the rustle of leaves under their trudging steps, the two humans glaring at one another. The youth suddenly tried to shoot away, but Proteus reined a quickly recovering Archimedes into his path, the prince's well-shaped mouth twisting into a grim frown as his brows furrowed.

"I wouldn't try it if I were you," he murmured in a low voice few but his father and Sinbad knew to be portent of danger. The boy backed away slowly, spinning away to again run. But again, Proteus blocked his path with the tall Archimedes, hard hooves flashing dangerously close to the thief's feet. With a sigh at the desperation tempered by fear in the youth's eyes, Proteus grudgingly softened his voice. "Enough. I'm not going to hurt you."

As if to prove it, Proteus swung a leg in front of him, slipping off Archimedes gracefully. Proteus patted the horse's shoulder in dismissal, and Archimedes and Ramses wandered away to graze. Proteus wasn't concerned—they would return immediately with a whistle.

"Your name?" Proteus asked quietly. The youth tossed his head defiantly, the sun filtering through the branches catching his face briefly. The boy could be no more than eighteen. "Heavens," muttered an irritated Proteus, passing a disbelieving hand over his eyes. "You're little more than a boy." The lad's lips tightened, but he still remained silent. Apparently, this conversation was going to be rather one-sided.

"Listen, I don't know why you attempted to steal my horse. It was foolish, and could have easily cost you your life, especially on a horse like Ramses. But you never left the palace grounds, and Ramses appears unhurt. There is no reason for your life to ruined, not when you are so young. We'll return to the castle, and I'll do my best to soften your sentence." On the last statement, the boy tensed, his eyes widening as he shut down. He again whirled, breaking away to the edges of the glen. Proteus quickly caught up with him and, snatching his arm in an iron grip, knocked him back, the boy stumbling a bit. The prince then drew his sword to display his seriousness over the matter.

When the boy produced a concealed blade from a sheath on his back, Proteus groaned in exasperation. Taking it as a sound of fear, the lad attacked quickly and viciously. Expertly blocking the strike, Proteus fought back, the two slowly drawing more deeply into a heated battle. Although an expert swordsman, Proteus had to work to cover himself—the boy had talent, and some training. However, just as a rhythm was developing, something distracted the youth, causing him to hesitate. Pushing his advantage, Proteus unarmed him, the boy's useless blade flying away to land in the cushion of leaves ten feet away. The prince triumphantly pointed his blade at the boy's throat, the victor gracious enough to look at the loser without a smirk.

"Now," Proteus began. However, before he could say more, he caught a flash of movement in the dark foliage behind the thief. Catching the glint of an iron arrowhead at the last moment, Proteus leapt forward, shoving the boy down. The arrow buried itself high in Proteus's right shoulder, a wave of pain that took his breath away rippling out from the wound across his skin like an icy sweat. The air scored his throat as Proteus dragged breath into his struggling lungs, and he dropped loosely to his knees, his limp fingers losing his sword in the leaves.

Clasping his left hand over the wound as best as he could manage in a vain attempt to staunch the bleeding, Proteus struggled to straighten his winding vision as the archer approached from the cover of the trees, a blade glimmering in the sunlight in his hand and a cruel look on his craggy face. Grasping his sword with his bloodied left hand, Proteus struggled to his feet, valiantly fighting the black that stained the edges of his vision with gritted teeth and narrowed eyes. So focused on his attempts to get up and face the archer, the prince didn't hear the small, cut-off yelp from the thief.

The archer swung his blade with power, but lacked finesse and imagination. Perhaps a little slower than his norm, Proteus still skillfully blocked the blow, moving in a stilted, pained manner, the anger lacing his blood the only thing keeping the prince on his feet. His bloody hand was a little slippery on the hilt of his sword, but determination tightened his grip. The archer attempted to draw him into a duel, but Proteus was well aware that, with his injury, he would never survive a drawn-out battle. Yet the archer kept dancing away, and Proteus heaved a breath of frustration, his head swimming with nausea when he accidently stretched a muscle in his shoulder. Best to end it now—he wouldn't last much longer.

With little strength left, it was pure rage that pushed Proteus to drive his blade through the opening the archer had left straight into his stomach. Wrenching his blade free as the dying man fell with a sickly gurgle, Proteus started to turn to search for the lad when another, perhaps an accomplice of the archer, slammed the hilt of a sword against Proteus's right temple. Darkness stole over the prince's vision with a roar as he collapsed in the leaves with rolling eyes, sliding into unconsciousness.

* * *

_Woo hoo! I thought this story was lost forever when, after a long and strange series of events, my old computer was quite literally tossed into a dumpster. I can't estimate the thousands of hours I thought lost, but, Microsoft proved hardy, and I was able to recover my stories. So, here's my little continuation after the events of the movie _Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas_. I felt Proteus got a little shafted with the whole deal, and at the very least deserved a girl. His was stolen by Sinbad. Kinda. Anyway, like Suzaku in _Blue Blood and Green Eyes_, I feel that a little justice needs to be served to the noble, princely supporting character. Proteus always was my favorite and I forgot how much fun I had with this chapter. So enjoy! I hope you like it!_


	2. Apology

Ch 2: Apology

The youth, struggling against the muscled arm wrapped around her throat, slammed an elbow into her captor's ribs when the prince hit the ground, utilizing the diversion to make a bid for freedom. He released the thief with a grunt, and the stripling dashed away, snatching up her lost blade before turning with bared teeth on the armed man who had knocked Proteus unconscious.

The horse thief was not a boy, but the Countess of Shalimar, Azeah Lerios. She was not eighteen like Proteus's estimation, but twenty-four. However, Proteus had been right about one thing—she was an expert swordsman, and dismay was the last thing she felt as she faced the hulking man leering at her, his sword clasped nonchalantly in a loose-wristed hand. The man chuckled at her, hardly working to settle into any semblance of a fighting stance, he was so confident that Azeah wasn't a challenge. The fight didn't last long—the man was down on the ground bleeding mortally from a neck wound within three strikes. Sheathing her bloody sword with the hiss of steel, Azeah knelt beside Proteus among the shed leaves that carpeted the forest floor in witch fire, bronze, and russet.

Checking the prince's pulse, she allowed herself a breath of relief to find his rapidly draining blood still pumping through his veins. That lost blood soaked his clothes well down to his belt and across to the opposite shoulder. Rolling him carefully to his back, Azeah tore open his tunic, gritting her teeth at the severity of the wound. Her hesitant hands had just reached for the arrow when a lazy, gravelly voice interrupted her.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Azeah. You just might kill him." Glaring over her shoulder, Azeah's mouth tightened as Pascal Rhydian stepped into the dappled light of the grove, the man once known as the elegant and suave Duke of Jiste before he had tumbled from his position with shame. She turned fully and stood, spreading her feet as guard for Proteus.

Rhydian clucked his tongue disapprovingly, clasping his lithe hands behind his back once he had brushed back golden hair from his angelic, crystalline eyes. They were almost stunning; until you witnessed the soul-deep frigidity in them that sent a shiver down your spine. "You were a disappointment today, Azeah. I expected that your father would have taught you more of his craft. Or perhaps it was the fact that you lost your nerve and ran. Either way," he continued, despite the mutinous, livid flash that lit Azeah's eyes, "Zeris will receive five lashes for your incompetence today." Azeah blanched, but clicked her spine straight and fisted her hands in a bid for control.

"You have no reason to punish my brother. I was the one who made the mistake—let the lashes fall on my skin." But Rhydian shook his head, a smirk ghosting the corners of his mouth as an almost delighted expression laced his eyes.

"You have no regard for your own pain—Zeris's screams strike much closer to the heart. No, your brother will feel the lash for your spectacular debacle of a failure today. The task was simple enough, Azeah, and you bungled it miserably. Zeris's punishment isn't your choice—but I'm offering you another." Azeah reared her head back, distrust plain in the unearthly sapphire irises of her eyes.

"You can either depart with us now, leaving Prince Proteus to surely die, or, you can take him back where he'll perhaps survive and you will undoubtedly face the consequences before the delegation for horse thievery and maybe the death of the prince if the wound proves too much for him to manage." Azeah's teeth tightened at Rhydian's cheerful tone. It didn't matter which path she chose; someone would get hurt. What twisted Azeah's gut the most was that Rhydian didn't care what she chose—it was a power play, a psychological game. And he was certain that he would win.

"Proteus saw the man who injured him," Azeah argued, attempting to lessen Rhydian's unholy glee at her fate.

"Who is now dead," Rhydian countered. "The prince can't know that you weren't the one who knocked him unconscious, and therefore the murderer's accomplice. If he does ever awaken, it will be too late to speak at your trial, and I can assure you, the thin-skinned, edgy counsel will move regardless of his testimony."

"They won't make a decision without his evidence—it's unjust and unethical," Azeah said, concern leaking into the conviction in her voice.

"Ha!" The derisive bark of noise cut through the tranquility of the clearing, jabbing at the headache pounding like a drum at the back of Azeah's head so hard she blinked at the wave of pain that raced over the crown of her skull. "After the near-call with that pirate Sinbad and the Book of Peace fiasco, they're desperately oversensitive about Proteus. The prince and his position are so fragile, especially since he hasn't settled down and bred some pups to take his place. He really shouldn't be throwing his life around for the likes of you, not without an heir secured." Rhydian paused, appearing contemplative. Suddenly, a dazzling smile lit his face, and with a shrug of the shoulders, he continued his tirade.

"Then again, I couldn't give a damn if he lives or not—in fact, it would make my life much easier if the chivalrous prince didn't survive. Either way, you'll be their scapegoat, Azeah. So make your choice, and quickly, too. He's losing quite a bit of blood." Rhydian swept away, his henchman flowing after him like shadows, whisking their dead away as if they had never fallen, leaving only dark, oily stains of blood on the forest floor. Azeah stood stock still, torn between comforting her sixteen year old brother after the beating promised for him and saving the dying prince at her feet, a man she had only met once or twice a very long time ago.

Proteus had risked his life for her, maybe even died for her. She couldn't leave him here if there was a way to save him. Then again, if the delegation did find her guilty, who would protect Zeris from Rhydian? Not that she was doing all that wonderful of a job, Azeah bitterly reminded herself. Five lashes against his young skin—it dragged the bile through her throat and made the scars on her back burn.

Blinking away tears at the thought of her brother's punishments, Azeah dropped to her knees next to Proteus, her decision made. "I'm sorry, Zeris," she whispered under her breath. She would return the prince back to the castle, and find a way back to her younger brother. This optimistic melding of options was the best she could do, while the pessimistic back of her brain warned that there that it was unlikely at best to achieve both aims.

Carefully gripping the arrow as close to the skin as possible, Azeah closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. Flashing them open, she pulled the arrow straight out quickly, the rending sound making her stomach drop. Proteus's eyes blindly flashed open, his back arching up with a gasp. His blood-flecked face paled, and his hands tightened into fists. Azeah gently placed a hand at his forehead, checking for a fever as much as for comfort.

"Hush, it's all right," Azeah murmured gently, her other hand stroking down his upper arm comfortingly. Proteus's breath froze as his roving eyes clashed with her's, and his body fell limp again as his eyes closed. Heaving a breath of relief and tearing several long strips from his long blue over-tunic, Azeah carefully bound the wound, tying the ends expertly. Satisfied that the prince wouldn't bleed to death all over the forest floor, Azeah stood, retrieving Proteus's blade, returning it back to its sheath with an expert hand. That task done, she glanced around for the horses.

She remembered how Proteus had commanded the bay up into a rear with a whistle and a low command. Azeah experimented with several low whistles before a melodic trill brought the pair trotting back into the clearing. The bay had stepped on his lead, tearing it loose of the knot Azeah had quickly tied back in the stable. She allowed both horses to greet her carefully, rubbing their muzzles softly before returning the bay's make-shift reins back to their normal function as a lead rope.

Remembering Proteus's ease on the dappled gray and the horse's level-headed, obedient nature, Azeah decided that the prince would ride behind her on the gray while the bay he'd called Ramses followed. An appropriate name, Azeah mused—the Pharaoh too had been a giant for his kind, full of fire and pomp.

Leading the gray—if Azeah remembered correctly, Proteus had urged him on during the chase by the name Archimedes—to where his master lay, she looked at the horse with raised eyebrows and a scrutinizing gaze. There was intelligence in the horse's eyes. Maybe he knew the command needed for what she had in mind. Whistling a low tune and tapping the horse's withers accompanied by the command, "Down, Archimedes," Azeah stepped back and waited. Archimedes looked at her for a moment with wise eyes before glancing away with a snort. Azeah began to think that she'd have to lift the tall Proteus onto the horse's high back when the stallion gracefully folded his legs, plopping down to the ground next to his master.

"Good boy," Azeah murmured in a relieved tone as she rubbed Archimedes's poll. Hefting Proteus carefully, Azeah struggled a bit—the prince was a tall, muscled man—, but she eventually arranged him on Archimedes's back astride. Twisting and stretching limber muscles, Azeah squeezed in front of Proteus while keeping his upright; no easy task. Settling his head on her right shoulder and wrapping his left arm around her waist, she deemed them ready. Finally settled, Azeah gathered the lead rope and tapped Archimedes's shoulder with her toe. The horse moved slowly to his feet, while Azeah kept a tight arm back around Proteus's waist to keep him from shifting.

Once standing, Azeah leaned over slightly and pulled Archimedes's face around, catching his eyes and holding it as she spoke. "You be careful, you hear? No running off or any such nonsense. You had a fun chase today, but now you're done. We get your master back home, and you can return to your supper. But only once the prince is safely back." The clever horse blinked once, the bobbed his head. Hoping Archimedes understood, Azeah patted his neck before clicking him over to the bay.

Ramses tried to act arrogant and fussy, prancing away from Archimedes with a flicking tail and tossing head. The chase dragged on and on, Azeah unable to speed up or turn Archimedes hard due to her unconscious passenger. Finally, Azeah outmaneuvered Ramses and snagged his halter, drawing his face close like she'd done with Archimedes.

"Enough, you snotty, spoiled brat. Your master, who raced all the way out here for your sake, could be dying. And the longer I bother with you, the more blood he's losing. Now stop acting like a child and sit still." Responding to her tone of voice, Ramses held his head tense for a moment. But at the look in Azeah's eyes and the dominant breath she blew at his nose, he dropped his head and lipped at her knee.

"That's more like it," Azeah murmured as she gathered up his lead rope. Clicking to Archimedes, Azeah was relieved to see Ramses obediently step forward. The bay pinned his ears, but with a quick reprimand from Azeah and a tug on the lead rope, he settled, relaxing into the walk. They could go no faster, for fear of jostling Proteus or losing him completely.

The sun soon set in barrage of colors, the temperature dropping with it. Stars poked their way through the indigo blanket of the sky, pinpricks of ice light that lost the battle of supremacy to the rising moon, an almost full globe that sailed across the dark sky like an ivory galleon. Struggling out of her ratty coat that had been part of her disguise, she draped it over Proteus's broad shoulders to ward off the chill.

If she was removing part of her costume, Azeah might as well take off the piece that was irritating her the most. Removing the too-small hat and tucking it into a pocket, she shook loose her wavy raven hair and rubbed off the dirt smeared across her cheeks, sighing as her thoughts wandered to when they would arrive back at the palace.

Guards would pounce on her, no doubt, and the cry of alarm that would be raised at the sight an unconscious, bloodied Proteus would probably spook the horses. Maybe not Archimedes, but Ramses would throw a fit. Azeah would have to be ready for that. Maybe, if she spoke quickly enough, she could release Ramses and calm Archimedes before things got out of hand. Then, at least, Proteus would be taken care of before slipping off a dancing Archimedes, and Ramses was free to throw a temper tantrum without hurting anyone.

Maybe she could dismount Archimedes just outside of the palace ground, and never have to actually show her face in the courtyard. But there was no certainty that the horses would wander into the courtyard. They were more likely to meander back to their suppers in the stables, and with the grooms no doubt enjoying their own nightly meal, it was doubtful anyone would notice Proteus, slowly dying on the back of his horse. No, Azeah realized, she'd have to lead them all straight into the courtyard in order to ensure that Proteus received care as soon as possible.

For all her concern elsewhere, Azeah's attention kept wandering back to the prince resting against her, his position providing a thorough acquaintance with his physique. Despite his injury, the healthy warmth of his body radiated out like a sun, melting a little of the ice in Azeah's bones. The prince was draped rather intimately over her, and with no imagination required, Azeah could elaborate from the broad, carved planes of his chest pressed against her back to the twining of muscle across his shoulders and down his back. Azeah brushed back hair from her suddenly warm neck, her hand still lightly clasped around his long, aristocratic one.

His face was no more than an inch away every time she turned her head. It was a good face, Azeah decided after an attempt at impersonal inspection. A strong, determined jaw that was clean-shaven despite the fashion otherwise. Well-shaped, dynamic lips that Azeah had seen bowed down in a dark frown, twisted as he battled silently with intense pain, and curved grimly upward in triumph during the heat of the chase. His nose was a straight, princely one. His high, carved cheekbones were an ode to his breeding, his soaring brows and high forehead one to his race. And his eyes. Ringed with dark, long lashes, they were the crowning glory of his handsome face.

Azeah knew his eyes to be dark brown, almost like black velvet. But if you got close enough, say, as you clashed blades, you could see the streaks of gold fanning out from his pupil that made his eyes seem so warm and earnest, almost glowing with life. She bit her lip at the thought of the tragedy should those eyes grow cold, all because of her. Leaning over ever so slightly, Azeah brushed feather lips against Proteus's cheek.

"I'm so sorry," Azeah whispered, the rustle of sound lost to the stars. "I never thanked you for your courage, yet I owe you my life. I never deserved your chivalry. Thank you, Proteus. So much." Turning blue eyes to the west, Azeah could make out the glow of the palace lights. They were almost there.

* * *

_Yay, Ch 2 is up. The first three chapters are already written, and are just a matter of typing up. After Ch 3, I'm going to have to start being creative again. Considering my emotional state and recent upheavals in my life, that's going to be an issue. A lot of stuff is going to be started, both here and on DeviantArt. _The Sapphire Mage_ is going to be quiet for a while (sorry fans, but I would rather poke my eye out with a hot poker than post anything less than my best, and I am NOT at my best), but it's all material that's already down. I just have to type it into my laptop. So I hope you enjoy!_


	3. Custody

Ch 3: Custody

As they broke the cover of trees, Azeah decided it would be for the best if Ramses never entered the courtyard at all. She tossed the rope over his neck and clicked him away. His black tail waving like a banner, the big bay trotted back to his stall. Archimedes and his passengers continued on to the brilliantly lit courtyard.

Azeah could hear the shouts of concern and command from a hundred feet away. The people were no doubt terrified at the disappearance of their prince—they'd already almost lost him once. To do so again after such a close call would be the most bitter of ironies. Archimedes's light coat started to glow in the torchlight, and Azeah's cover was quickly disintegrating. She had to get the situation under control before it ever started to spiral.

"Come quickly, soldiers, and lower your arms!" she called in a clear, even voice. _Well_, Azeah thought to herself as the pounding of feet and shuffle of clothing grew to a crescendo, _that got their attention_. She guided Archimedes into the courtyard, and was presented by about fifty faces flickering in the fitful torch light. They didn't have spears, but down to the last man, they were resting their hands on the butts of their swords. Glancing down, Azeah swallowed at the stark staining of blood on her hands. That didn't look good. Azeah kept talking, trying to dispel at least a fraction of the tension that was souring the air to an almost unbreathable point. Azeah halted Archimedes in the center of the courtyard in a small pool of space free of men.

"Please, gentlemen. Your prince in injured, and desperately needs medical attention. The wound is to his right shoulder, and he would best be carried on a shield or a board. Please do not all approach at once!" she quickly added as the men started to move forward, nervousness blooming among the crowd from her statement about their prince's condition. "Archimedes has dealt with quite enough today. Only three men approach, men comfortable with this horse and whom he knows, and have the shield ready."

Three men peeled out of the crowd, one carrying a broad, round shield. Satisfied that it would work well, Azeah turned her attention to Archimedes. He was doing as well as could be expected, but would only behave for a while longer. She could feel it in the way his muscles trembled and the unnecessary force of his breath.

"Just a while longer, handsome," Azeah murmured as the trio finally closed in. One of the men, a bearded fellow bearing the shield, stroked a gentle hand over Archimedes's shoulder with a softness that contradicted the sour, pinched look on his face.

"You'll pay for this," he murmured as he and the two other soldiers worked to carefully lower their prince off the tall gray. But for one command to be careful when one man's hand moved dangerously close to Proteus's shoulder, Azeah kept her silence with tight lips. The reaction was only to be expected, she reminded herself. Who else was there to blame? Safely off his horse and being borne away to help, the prince was no longer an obstacle. Just as the men started to move in, Azeah leaped off Archimedes and released his reins.

Rearing at the crowd and screaming in confusion and fear, the gray spun, galloping off to the stables. No one pursued the hunter or tried to stop him; they were too concerned with the culprit for the assault on their prince. Azeah had never felt so many hands so brutally attack her body, and could only cover her head and curl tight as they crushed her under their blows and sheer weight. One man's fist caught her square in the ribs—another's made contact with her eye, and Azeah could feel it almost immediately swell.

She was eventually hauled to her feet, her hands ruthlessly dragged behind her back. Shackles were produced almost instantly, and Azeah could feel the heavy metal click close around her wrists with an ominous echo. Despite her confinement and disorientation, two men still kept hard hands on Azeah's upper arms, propelling her forward out of the courtyard so fast that she tripped about every other step. The men yanked on her arms mercilessly, moving faster and faster until the trio was practically jogging.

Azeah had no idea where she was going—she knew the interior of the castle moderately well, but the dark combined with her swelling eye and the speed with which the guards were dragging her worked to prevent Azeah from identifying any of the surrounding walls or architecture. After descending, or in Azeah's case, tripping down a steep, chilly flight of stairs, she was jerked to a halt before a thick mahogany door that bore a tiny barred window at about eye-level.

Shoved inside carelessly, Azeah tumbled down onto the cold, damp cobbles, the smell of mold and rot heavily staining the air. Eventually pushing herself stiffly to her feet, Azeah leaned back gingerly against a bitterly cold wall, brushing at the strands of hair that had fallen into her face with bound hands, and took stock.

Experimentally probing her eye, Azeah had no doubt that it would be turning several flamboyant colors within the hour. Her arms still ached where the guards had held her, and her ribs were throbbing with her pulse and challenged the rhythm of her breathing—she could only hoped that, at worse, they were cracked. A broken rib could prove troublesome. With a bitter, explosive sigh, Azeah slid down to the floor, propping her chin on bent knees as her blue eyes became unfocused and distant. Enabling a trick she had learned long ago, Azeah slid into a sort of meditation. Pain bled away, and time didn't matter. You just floated, and thought. This whole situation was as she had expected. So why was she so troubled? Nothing had been a surprise—these humans had behaved exactly according to their natures. Cheap shots, the lot of them. And if they maintained their pattern, a couple dawns from now, Azeah would be facing the block as the sun bled color into the morning sky. And no one would be left to care for Zeris. Yet another promise to break. Unbidden and unacknowledged, a single tear tracked down Azeah's face as she shivered against the dungeon's chill.

* * *

_The last chapter for this story for a while. Kind of depressing, but should be fun to reveal, whenever the upheaval of my life settles back down and I can get my emotions back into order again. Azeah's interesting, damaged, and, boy, is she deep. Proteus is going to have fun parting those still waters. Don't worry, I'm not going to kill him off. This is his story, and it's only just begun! Hope you guys like it!_


	4. Trial and Defense

Ch 4: Trial and Defense

Proteus woke in a lightning strike of awareness, his eyes flashing open so fast that his vision sparkled with a field of stars. His empty stomach roiled, and a groan of agony rippled across the room. Initially, Proteus was unaware it resonated from his own throat. It felt like the bones in his shoulder has splintered into fiery shards that ate their way down his arm well into his fingers. Simultaneously, pain rolled across his chest in hot waves, tickling his throat with razor-sharp fingers. Squeezing his eyes closed, Proteus dragged labored breaths through his nose, trying his damndest to stop the war drum beat that screamed along the crown of his skull.

Eventually the drum beat quieted to a heartbeat, and when Proteus opened his eyes, he could actually see. He was in his quarters, every candle staunched and the noise muted by the thickness of the dark. Swinging his legs over gingerly, Proteus started to bring his right hand to his forehead when the muscle constriction nearly knocked him on his back. Taking a moment to breathe, Proteus reestablished his calm before taking to his feet. It was a struggle to keep on his feet when the room revolved and his stomach with it. When his vision settled again, Proteus gently probed his shoulder, finding it well-wrapped with clean white bandages.

Shuffling around the room as if he were blind, Proteus indulged in a vicious, wicked string of curses when he stubbed his foot on the chest at the foot of his bed. His father would have paled had he heard such language pour from his noble son's mouth. He shrugged stiffly into a black linen tunic, belting it and knotting it as well as he could with one hand. Making his way to the door, it suddenly occurred to Proteus just how heavy his door really was when he had to heave it open with one hand and pain filling his chest to the brim.

The heavy ebony panels creaked open reluctantly, and Proteus nearly blacked out from shock when Tradeus, his footman and attendant, stood on the other side of the door, looking at his prince with wide, shocked brown eyes.

"My lord! You—You shouldn't be out of bed! Your shoulder—" Proteus waved a hand to silence Tradeus's fearful words, his brow knitting at his attendant's tone.

"The rider… The horse thief. Where is he?" Tradeus looked confused, and Proteus had to swallow back the frustration that clogged his throat. Suddenly, Tradues's expression cleared, but became righteously angry and vengeful. The prince was shocked by his mild-mannered attendant's expression, one he had never seen cross the thin man's lined face.

"You mean the woman who did this to you?" Proteus blinked owlishly. Woman? That didn't make any sense… However, his mind flashing through the events earlier that afternoon, suddenly, Proteus could now see the patterns that blind rage and the heat of the chase had hidden from him. The fine bones of her face hadn't signaled youth—they were a sign of her femininity. The same could be said for her slim frame. It was only when he'd puzzled his way through that riddle did the second half of Tradeus's statement hit him.

"Wait… What? The black-haired youth? The one who must have brought me back? She isn't responsible for my wounds! If she hadn't returned me, I would have undoubtedly died!"

"But, Your Majesty, she's being tried for your attempted murder as we speak!" Proteus ground his teeth as he swept past Tradeus, striding long while anger and vicious pride buffered the pain. Only a matter of moments later, he reached the council's chambers. One less dominated by pain and anger would have found a strange irony in the situation. He had pushed open these very doors with similar emotions only months ago. It would seem that the chamber would again hear his voice raised for the defense.

* * *

Azeah had been dragged from her cell long after the sun's rays weakly trickled through the small window high on her cell wall. This time, she was escorted with far more pomp, a clear warning she was on her way to her trial. As the pace was slower and sleep had cleared her head, Azeah could clearly see her surroundings, and knew long before they made the final turn down the long, well-adorned hallway where she was being taken.

There was no shoving or pushing this time around—in fact, the guards didn't touch her at all. When the large, ornately carved doors parted and Azeah stepped inside, a wicked hush fell over the crowd gathered in the council's chambers. Grinding her teeth against the tears that welled, Azeah moved with a graceful step and a high head. Halting before the council, the silence her steps had interjected now reigned supreme as Azeah locked eyes with the head councilman. It had been so long since she'd travelled in this circle, that his name escaped her.

"Your name?" the head councilman boomed out in his deep voice. Azeah kept her stony silence, breathing carefully through her nose as she let the focus in her eyes go. "The trial will move forward with or without your testimony. Again, what is your name?"

"Azeah," she murmured. It slipped out unbidden, as something in this sad situation lowered Azeah's reserves. There was nothing to be done. She would be dead within a fortnight. To struggle against that fate was just too exhausting.

"Azeah?" one of the councilors repeated as they stood. Focusing her gaze, Azeah paled. It just now occurred to her that her aunt Taryn served on the council of the Twelve Cities. "Azeah Lerios, Countess of Shalimar?" the slim, older woman said again, her voice heavy with incredulity and tinted with a kind of painful joy.

"Councilwoman Calimus," the head councilman interrupted. "Please be seated." His voice had an edge of hardness that brooked no argument. Taryn slowly took a seat, her eyes plastered to Azeah. Guilt rose with heat and wrapped its sticky hands around the countess's throat. "Now, if there are no more interruptions, we may proceed. Lady Shalimar, it is understood that after stealing one of Prince Proteus's horses, you attempted to kill him in the royal hunting grounds. As Proteus's condition is still unstable, we cannot ask him to verify his account of the incident. The question of his survival is still unanswered at this point. Thus I think it's safe to say that—" A shuddering boom interrupted the councilman's sentence.

"This council has yet to stop targeting those under my protection for crimes committed against the state? Indeed, I must agree." Proteus's entrance and statement brought the council to their feet, as Azeah spun, her eyes wide with shock to see the prince she had returned unconscious and possibly bleeding to death only a sun's turn ago striding towards her, his dark eyes burning like hellfire. Dymus leaped forward, trying to impede his injured son's march to Azeah's side.

"Proteus, please, you're wounded," Dymus murmured, trying to push Proteus back without actually touching him for fear of causing him pain.

"Wounded, yes, but not dead, which the council chose not to confirm before commencing with this trial. Despite that, I will testify. This woman is not responsible for my injuries," Proteus proclaimed in a clear, controlled tone as he swung his hand to point at Azeah, striding in front of her to shield her. "In fact," he continued, a small laugh lacing his words, "she saved my life. It was easily within her power to leave me dying on the forest floor. Instead, she faced down the entire royal guard and this council in order to bring me home. She deserves a commendation, council, not a trial! That fact that she has been forced to stand in one manifests a serious lack of judgment on this council's part."

"Proteus," Dymus muttered, warning heavy in his tone.

"If not the countess, Prince Proteus, then who?" Councilwoman Calimus asked. Proteus's eyes flicked to Azeah, and she could see the question in them clearly. _Countess?_ Instead, Proteus dragged his gaze back to her aunt, quickly recollecting his control. Azeah, who kept her eyes on the prince, could see that with his anger quickly fading, pain was crowding the intent expression on his face. His right arm crept up, resting across his abdomen to lessen the pressure on his shoulder.

"I can't say for certain, Councilwoman. Rogues, poachers, perhaps." The volume of Proteus's voice was deteriorating, along with his condition. A blind person could see he wouldn't last much longer, not with his dignity intact. The council had a bone in their teeth, and would sacrifice Proteus's health in order to satisfy their questions. This had to end now.

"Send scouts into the forest, if you must," Azeah interjected. Everyone in the room stared at her as if she had started speaking in tongues. Proteus almost jumped as his gaze slammed back to her. Controlling the urge to shake her head and roll her eyes, Azeah continued. "However, I doubt you'll find anything. If the ones responsible for this haven't covered the tracks, the forest has. Be that as it may, it's time for the council to make their decision." Azeah expected the head councilman to speak. Perhaps that's why she was a little surprised when it was her aunt who spoke first.

"Even if the prince's testimony hadn't cleared you of the charges, his protection is undisputable, Azeah. Guards, remove the shackles. The Lady Shalimar is free to go." The guards stepped forward to follow their orders. However, Azeah didn't miss the hesitation in their step. It would seem that their thirst for blood and retribution would go unquenched. Just as the heavy weights fell free from her hands, a councilman whom Azeah hadn't paid much attention to suddenly spoke.

"You _are_ free to go, Lady Shalimar. However, I do believe the council agrees with me in that in light of this disturbing event, it would be best if you stayed here in the palace. For your protection." Azeah held still, looking hard at the short, slightly portly councilman. She was no fool. This was hardly for her protection. It was house arrest. However, she couldn't argue, and instead bobbed her head in a passable bow. She and Proteus turned together, sparing each other a brief glance that spoke volumes on the way out. Out of the corner of her eye, Azeah could see that Proteus was limping. She had to get him out of here, quickly.

It was something of an execution walk, the tandem of their steps echoing in the chamber's utter silence. As the giant doors swung open, Azeah was forced to throw up her hand to shield her eyes from the sudden glare of sunlight after the dim chamber of the council.

Faintly she heard Proteus say, "This way." She turned towards him, moving mostly on sound. Eventually her eyes adjusted, and Azeah could see Proteus faltering not two steps ahead of her. Reading his gait correctly, Azeah surged forward just as Proteus's legs gave way, his gasp of pain sizzling down Azeah's spine, accompanied by an emotion she refused to acknowledge as fear. Slinging his left arm over her shoulder and wrapping her arm around his waist for support, Azeah straightened, tossing an apologetic glance the prince's way.

"I'm sorry you had to survive that ordeal. I'd like to say you didn't have to, but you and I both know the consequences if you hadn't shown up." She waved away Proteus's response just as he opened his mouth. She would hear of no apology from his quarter. "You have no need to apologize, not even for the councilors. I am indebted to you, yet again, Prince Proteus." They moved forward, Proteus giving quiet directions to his room.

As they made slow progress through the quiet halls, Proteus suddenly turned his head, the movement catching Azeah's eye. She turned her head to face his very close one, and was almost staggered by the proximity. He had such honest eyes. It was almost… overwhelming. A small smile crooked his handsome lips.

"Do you think there will ever be a day when we even the scales between us?" Azeah offered a small smile in return, but no answer. She doubted that day would ever come. For if the scales were ever to weigh even, the tally of actions must first be discarded. And that called for a closeness Azeah could never afford.

* * *

_Sorry for the wait. Hope you enjoy!_


	5. Embrace

Ch 5: Embrace

It didn't take long for Proteus to be taken from Azeah; they'd hardly moved twenty steps when near silent servants, hushing and soothing in well-trained voices, slipped the limping prince from Azeah's support and whisked him down the hallway. He was barely able to mutter a command to escort the countess to the chambers she would be staying in and offer a sheepish smile before he rounded the corner, and was gone. She tried to battle back the feelings that squeezed her lungs; possessiveness and guilt, insult and concern. But, using control honed diamond sharp since childhood, she instead meekly followed the narrow-eyed servant that led the way down the lofty, tasteful corridors.

It had been almost two decades since she'd traversed these halls—Azeah didn't include her mad dash a few days ago, nor did her march as a prisoner of the city of Syracuse count either, not with her life hanging over her head. But now, the countess marveled at the white stone, grand pillars, detailed mosaics and dashing colors that set the palace apart from the rest of the city, and the rest of the world. She'd known this place once, as well as her own home. But now, Azeah could hardly summon the memories that had been stamped by that long-ago summer.

As she glanced around with wide eyes, she noticed that the servant took particular care to avoid eye contact, and, as much as he could, direct speech. So, the people of the castle, and perhaps the people of the city, still blamed Azeah for Proteus's injuries. With gritted teeth, she shrugged it off. She was no stranger to bad opinion, and for once, could be certain of her own innocence.

He led her into a grand room decorated in silver and lavender and sea foam green. The rugs looks like they were from the Orient, the impressive drapes framing the balcony that looked out over the glittering bay undoubtedly Greek in origin. The large, raised bed was covered in mint-green sheets, while sheer lavender silks fell in concealing folds, woven with designs in silver thread depicting constellations so that even while lying in bed, one could see the stars. It was a room fit for a queen, providing luxuries Azeah hadn't tasted in years. Silently, the servant gestured to the wardrobe, then bowed out. It was normally customary for him to ask if she required any further aid, then add a blessing of the gods and a bidding for a good day. His snub was a breech in protocol, but Azeah ignored the slight with no ill will. She easily sensed his distrust, and was too distracted with the promise of warm water and clean clothes to wallow in his suspicion. Three maidens filed in as she scrubbed her face, the one that appeared to be the eldest, yet was still Azeah's junior by several years, offering the countess aid with her appearance.

Her dismissal was instantaneous, and clearly shocked the young women. But they merely bowed, and filed back out. Turning back as she untied the blood-stained shirt, Azeah slid it off her shoulders with an audible sigh of relief. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a flash, and glanced over her shoulder at the silvered mirror catching the light of the sun glinting over the staggering rocks of the Syracusian cliffs. Reflecting back at Azeah was the image of her back, criss-crossed with white stripes that marked her shame. Twenty one lashes, each hurting more than the last. The muscles of her back twitched, her shoulder blades seeming almost sharp enough to cut through the scarred skin.

She could hide it; she could ignore it. But Azeah could never deny nor forget the price folly and trust had exacted. Not when it was branded on her very skin. What burned all the hotter was the knowledge that the same fate was now forced on her younger brother at her failure. As tears burned her throat with their cold fire, she turned away, slipping off her boots and ill-fitting trousers at she bit at her sobs with a predator's grip. In the soft light of the sun streaming in from the balcony, Azeah washed her bruised and bloody skin. Prodding careful fingers to the swelling around her eyes, she hissed out a breath at the vicious sting.

A dull headache gnawed at the base of her skull. Squeezing her eyes against it, Azeah buried her face in the soft cloth, soaked with warm water and a little bloody. A slim, almost skeletal young woman, she stood silent, shoulders bowed, face buried as the cloth soaked her tears. Her long black hair, normally a lustrous mane of obsidian, hung lank and tangled, half of it still wound in the braid that had anchored it under the hat she had discarded days ago. Every point of her body was bruised from impact or trauma, her skin a tapestry of what she had suffered since the death of her father.

Her joints jutted against her skin with insult, jagged points that were often brushed with the smear of bruises. For a moment, Azeah allowed herself to wallow in the pain, dropping guards that exhausted her to hold, and letting it all wash over her. Her knees trembled, and she almost started to sway. Somehow, she managed to lock her legs, but couldn't stop the sobs that fluttered beyond the muffle of the cloth. A passing servant paused at her door. He could almost hear something. Something so sad, it tore at his heart with the faint fingers of a drowning child. But before he could say what he heard, it was gone. With a furrowed brow, he walked away, rubbing at his heart.

Eventually, Azeah lowered the cloth from her face. Allowing herself a few limping steps before locking her muscles, she dropped the cloth in the bowl of now-cold water, approaching the wardrobe on silent feet. Carefully, she perused the clothes before her. Inside, the little girl, so long repressed that she barely breathed life, giggled at the colors and textures. The woman, fighting a constant war against pain, looked from the most comfortable, concealing clothing. Once Azeah had made her choices, she slipped into black trousers carefully stitched with silver thread at the cuffs and up along the sides of her legs, surprised that they were actually long enough for her. A dark emerald tunic slid over her abused skin like a cool wind, and she wrapped the purple sash, so dark it was almost black, loosely enough to avoid any complaints from her ribs. The black slippers were a little big, but Azeah could hardly complain. A beautiful brush, inlaid with turquoise and gold, eventually tamed her curls, and Azeah gathered the top half of her hair up in handsome tortoiseshell combs that melted into the darkness of the tresses. The rest spilled down her back in barely-behaving waves, the ends tickling the curve of her spine.

She felt almost human.

Even as she was settling into the foreign sensation of contentment, a quiet knock sounded at the door. Azeah almost moved to answer it herself before she remembered that such action was generally frowned upon.

Instead, she called out a soft, "Enter," eyeing the servant that entered and bowed with some trepidation. Again, the staff seemed particularly adept at avoiding direct eye contact with her. Azeah's attention, however, was quickly drawn to the dignified woman who glided into the room.

"Lady Taryn Calimus," the servant announced before slipping away. If she didn't have such sharp eyes, Azeah wouldn't have noticed the speed with which the servant departed. Was there some sort of curse hanging over her head now? But she had no time to ponder this continuing avoidance when her aunt Taryn was enfolding her in the woman's signature embrace—soft flesh, floral scent, and a strong hold.

"Azeah!" she cooed, running careful hands over the younger, taller woman's face and shoulders, as if she still couldn't believe it was her niece, this gaunt, pale stranger who looked at her with such haunted eyes. "I'm leaving this afternoon for Rome, and wanted to be certain you were alright before I was on my way." Azeah shifted uncomfortably under Taryn's soft grey eyes, far more perceptive than one would guess. The countess imagined that her mother would have resembled her sister greatly had she survived to that age. Taryn's dense brown hair was gently threaded with grey, her silver eyes softer than her late sister's, more closely resembling her nephew's. Gently, the older woman took Azeah's hands, leading her to the small table by the balcony, paired with elegant chairs. The view was stunning as the day progressed, the water lit by a sun unblemished by clouds.

"What happened to you, Azeah? You and Zeris practically disappeared after your father's death," Taryn said, her eyes earnest enough to cause Azeah's stomach to drop. She could never tell her aunt what exactly had befallen her sister's children. She loved the woman, the kind diplomat she hadn't seen in years, too much to burden her with the truth of it all. Instead, she forced her lips, which felt stiff and cold, into a soft smile.

"Things were difficult after Father died. But Zeris and I have managed. The incident involving the prince was merely a mix-up." Taryn's eyes stayed steady on hers, and Azeah swallowed. Damn her aunt for being so observant. Azeah had always been merely an adequate liar at best, and the bout with grief she'd survived only minutes ago did nothing to help her resolve. After a few moments, Taryn sighed, her eyes concerned and disappointed. She might as well have shot an arrow at Azeah's heart.

"I know you don't trust me, Azeah. I tried to contact you after Matthius died, but there were rumblings in Constantinople, and…" The countess blinked as her aunt continued talking, the simple gesture hiding a tumult of emotions that screamed through her brain like the worst of storms. Taryn had tried to contact them? But there had never been any messages, from any of their family… Of course, she realized, her heart cracking like thawing ice as she knew. Of course Rhydian would have intercepted any help from her family. He couldn't allow anyone to weaken his grip on the Shalimar holdings. For so long, Azeah had believed that she and Zeris had been abandoned. It was too late now for any of her family to help, but the realization that they had tried answered questions that had been gnawing at her soul for years.

Standing quickly, Azeah rounded the small table, bending to wrap her aunt in a hard hug. Taryn's words stuttered to a halt, her eyes tearing as she sat, stone-still and shocked. Her niece had never instigated affection, not since her mother's death. It took her a moment, but Taryn swiftly returned the embrace, closing her eyes against the grief that squeezed her throat like a fist. Guilt rose, and danced on her heart as she felt the sharp press of Azeah's joints, the shudder as she struggled much more successfully than Taryn had managed against tears.

She should have never allowed for this to happen, and it didn't take her sharp insight to tell Taryn that it was far too late for her to be able to offer any kind of help. Or that it would be accepted, for that matter. Azeah pulled away, crouching at her aunt's feet, Taryn's slim hands in hers.

"Thank you, so much, Aunt Taryn," she murmured, her deep blue eyes softer than the richest velvets.

"For… for what?" Taryn murmured, tracing the shape of Azeah's face. She looked so much like her father, strong lines and handsome angles, with enough of her mother's delicacy around the shape of her eyes and mouth to render her an elemental sort of beauty.

"For trying," she said simply. Swallowing once again past the guilt, Taryn lowered her eyes to their hands, fighting to accept that this was beyond her control, beyond the time she could have helped.

"Azeah, you should know..." With a sigh, she met her niece's eyes again. "You can trust Proteus. You can trust him with your very life, and more. Promise me that should the time ever come when you feel utterly alone in the face of whatever it is that puts that fear in your eyes, you'll ask for his help." She saw the resistance in Azeah's eyes, and squeezed the slim bones of her hands. "Promise me." The words were soft, equal parts plea and command. It was a simple enough request, one a part of Azeah's heart yearned to accept. Something in the dark eyes of Syracuse's prince resonated in the countess. A selflessness, a compassion she hadn't seen in so long, she nearly didn't recognize. Empathy was so natural to Proteus, a propensity to reach out that would make him not only a great king, but a beloved one, as well.

"I promise," she murmured. Taryn almost smiled, the tears in her eyes spilling over again to trail down her pale cheeks. Azeah nearly looked away in discomfiture, but felt it was a coward's shift of eyes. Her aunt reached up, again tracing her fingers over the girl's temple, down her cheek to her chin. Lowering her head, Taryn rested her forehead against Azeah's. For a moment, the two women were connected, eyes closed, hands clasped. Taryn's tears fell to her niece's cheeks, giving her the measure of aunt's grief and guilt, along with her own to carry. When Taryn straightened and opened her eyes, this time she fully smiled, a warm grin that was charming and disarming.

"Take care of yourself, Azeah. And if you ever make your way to Rome, you'll always be welcome at our villa." The countess nodded, her own small smile a few degrees warmer than her customary cool curve. Together, they took to their feet. For a moment, Taryn didn't move, gazing at her niece with searching eyes. Finally, she spoke. "Your mother would be proud."

And with that, Taryn kissed Azeah's cheek and sailed out, pausing at the doorway to look over her shoulder with a grin, her eyes flashing silver before walking away. She still stood rooted by the balcony, her cobalt eyes wide and dark, arched brows high. Her mouth trembled open for a moment before clicking closed, her eyes flicking upwards and blinking unfocused as she swallowed deeply. It wasn't guilt or grief, hate or helplessness that had the muscles of her throat tightening like a fist. It was love, long buried or twisted or simply too heavy to bear without losing her mind, that welled, sharp and sweet.

She was still standing, tall and silent like a young tree when the same servant who had led her to the chambers appeared at her doorway. His face was impassive, his eyes blank as he bowed. "Prince Proteus has asked for you to join him." Focusing on him was a challenge, and she could only nod. After following him for a few strides, Azeah stumbled, the break in balance enough to realign her attention.

Some things had changed, but not enough. Danger still hovered like a hawk, and she had to decide how much to tell Proteus should he ask what had instigated her theft of Ramses. It was getting harder to speak the lies when they locked thick and heavy in her throat. Although never easy, Azeah had been able to deliver them with effective adequacy since her mother's death. Coupled with deep blue eyes and a woman's face, and people were all the more willing to believe what she said. She always privately thought people believed her fabrications because they thought her too simple to be capable of such deception. Their mistake.

All too soon, she was at the impressive ebony doors of Proteus's chambers. She had nothing prepared, no lie to satisfy, no bluff to misdirect. Remembering her promise to her aunt, Azeah closed her eyes, dropping her chin as she gathered her strength. Maybe the power of a prince had always been what she needed.

As her sapphire eyes opened, the servant opened the door, his face as stony as ever. The sunlight flooded the spacious room, blinding her even as she threw up a hand to shield her eyes. Her sight still adjusting, Azeah stepped into the chamber, trust tested in every beat of her heart, every stretch of muscle. This could be the time and place where she would make her last stand. Or it could be the turning of the tide. But it was the ambiguity of the possibility itself that frightened the Countess of Shalimar the most.

* * *

_Hi! Please don't kill me… It's been a year and a half, and let's just say, the Tango you know and loved disappeared, was tested, tortured, mourned, reaped new fields, and I can only hope planted new seeds. As such, I have returned, maybe a better person, hopefully a better writer. Be honest if you feel that this chapter isn't up to caliber as previous ones. I have written not a single decent word in a year, so I'm easing my way back in. Although it's been a long time, I can honestly say that I've never forgotten the story or the fans, the first impossible without the second. If you get down to the nitty gritty, it was Nerual-56 (check out the link on my profile for CL fanart!) and repeated viewings of the movie that helped this chapter happened. But I would never had looked to return if it wasn't for all the wonderful reviews and story and author watches, not to mention all the favorites. The only way I can honor such support is through writing. I hope I have achieved at least that end. Blessed be. Hope you like it!_


	6. Faith

Ch 6: Faith

Azeah stepped into the elegant chamber, her eyes quickly adjusting to the light. Glancing to her left, she saw Proteus seated on his bed, a massive piece of furniture made of dark wood with deep green sheets. He was without a shirt, the bright white of new bandages standing out starkly against the warm dusk of his skin, his long mahogany hair left loose to trail down his back at a length that nearly rivaled Azeah's. The clean, sharp lines of his muscled shoulders and arms were bathed in the late morning light. Azeah could make out several old scars, one at the base of his neck hidden mostly by his hair and another on the upper curve of his left shoulder. A healer stepped back from where he stood in front of Proteus, nodding his head and murmuring to the prince.

"Now, Your Highness, you must try to limit your movement as much as possible. The mobility of your sword arm is at stake." Carefully fisting his hand as a servant helped him slip on a tunic, this one gray as smoke, Proteus grinned at the surgeon, nodding his head in patient understanding.

"Of course, Master Neska, and thank you again." Once the strip of cloth supporting his wrist was secured around Proteus's neck, the man bowed before hurrying out, his impassive eyes sliding over Azeah in a study that made her want to hunch her shoulders as he passed her. Standing to tie his tunic closed, Proteus finally saw her.

"Ah, Lady Azeah. Please, come in," he invited, gesturing her in as he nodded to the servant who had finished quickly tying back the prince's hair. The man left with a practiced bow, closing the door behind him. Then it was just the two of them, gazing at each other solemnly as only the curtains moved, slowly billowing in the sea breeze. Azeah carefully walked forward, and was suddenly gripped by the memory of facing him in a forest clearing, swords gleaming between them and the light of battle shining in his dark eyes, the streaks of gold burning in his irises like holy fire.

Now, he gazed at her with consideration, exhaustion shadowing his eyes and patience tilting his mouth in a smile. Wordlessly, he gestured for her to sit at the small wrought iron table on the balcony already set for a late morning breakfast. Together, they sat in silence, gazing at each other over a generous spread of food. Finally, Proteus grasped a cup of tea in his left hand, leaning back as he sipped.

"Please," he invited, gesturing with his free hand stiffly towards the table. Deciding that rude forbearance wouldn't help her case, Azeah plucked a ripe green grape from a bowl, her eyebrows shooting up as she broke the skin and the tart, cool juice splashed against her tongue. She'd all but forgotten what grapes tasted like, and had almost succeeded in ignoring the hunger that gnawed at her core. Snatching a small, soft roll, Azeah devoured it in three quick bites, gulping down the goblet of water like she'd spent three years in a desert. She was halfway through a thin, delicate pancake drizzled with honey before she paused.

Proteus had shifted forward, his cup of tea on the table and his right hand resting uselessly in his lap. His brows creased with pity, an expression that made Azeah's spine stiffen and her stomach roil. She dropped the pancake like it burned her fingertips, her eyes going to his before flicking away as embarrassment flooded her.

"My lady," he murmured, "how long has it been since you've eaten?" Her eyes stayed on the sea beyond his balcony, the frothy waves etched with delicate lace.

"Almost two days," she whispered, her voice breaking as she was forced to remember – her instinct for survival had almost allowed her to forget. Humiliation roiled in her overwrought stomach, making her blood burn sour. Proteus leaned back in his chair with a deep breath, taking another slow sip of tea before speaking.

"Then, by all means, eat whatever you like. But might I warn you that eating too much too quickly after doing without can cause the body to reject the food it needs. Take your time, Countess." When she looked back, he was gazing at her patiently, the pity gone from his expression, replaced by understanding. It was a rare thing, she decided, to possess that kind of empathy without needing the experience. Azeah knew Proteus didn't understand hunger, not the kind that felt like you were breaking in half. But he understood pride.

He said nothing further as she slowly continued to eat with the etiquette that had once been ingrained in her. She hadn't needed to use it in years. Proteus gave her time before speaking again, something stirring in his stomach at the sight of this beautiful woman with haunting blue eyes sitting at his table.

"What were you doing in the palace yesterday, Azeah?" She set down the goblet of watered wine before taking a sip, her eyes slowly tracking up to his. The countess who had forgotten her nobility swallowed once before clearing her throat, shifting as she gazed back out at the sea.

"Do you remember Pascal Rhydian?" If Proteus was expected her to ask him something, that was not it. His brow furrowed in mild confusion.

"The exiled Duke of Jiste? Yes, of course. He's actually a distant cousin of mine, and was one of the wealthiest men of Syracuse before he was stripped of his title and banished. What of him?" Azeah knew all of that already, of course. She had been forced to listen to rants detailing every aspect of Rhydian's rise and fall in the court of Proteus's father for years.

"He plans to take back his position, and more, by force. And he contracted me to steal the Tear of Artemis to do it." Proteus's jaw didn't drop, but it was a near thing. His dark eyes shot wide, his brows climbing in an unmistakable expression of disbelief. Azeah told herself not to be annoyed that he didn't believe her right off the mark. It didn't really work.

"Azeah, I…" She tried to keep herself from grinding her jaw. The intense flex of muscle that rippled under her temples proved her wrong.

"What part of that is difficult to believe, Your Highness?" Obviously confused at her sudden, leashed fury, Proteus slowly narrowed his eyes as he tried a mollifying smile.

"Are you a thief, Azeah?" he tried gently. As quickly as it had flared to life, her anger drained. There was no point in blaming him for not believing her. She used to not believe it herself, when she still hoped that this part of her life was a dream and that some day she would wake up to the way things used to be.

"Not by choice, sir," she said tiredly, leaning back in her chair as she traced her finger around the edge of her goblet. "But the question is, what will you do about Rhydian?" The hand of his arm resting in the sling slowly fisted, while Proteus's face shifted into the impassive lines of a general faced with an opposing army.

"I'm not yet sure," he said slowly. "But I do believe that I would be a fool to let you slip away. I think your knowledge about the matter could make all the difference in this. Azeah, you are welcome here as long as you wish to stay. Not only as my guest, but as my ally." It shouldn't have surprised her, not really. But there was something about his simple acceptance that rocked Azeah to her core. After a decade of hell, how could she possibly trust such an offer, even as a fraction of her heart foolishly yearned to take it?

"But, I… Proteus, I stole one of your horses! I tried to steal the Tear! You've already done more than enough for me. I simply can't accept this gesture, kind as it may be. I know when I'm undeserving." Instead of arguing with her, he merely laced his fingers, the edge of his mouth tilted up. He simply asked one question.

"Why did you do it?" Azeah looked down at her hands, knots of bones and tendons that had wound and twisted together without her realizing it.

"I won't give you an excuse for my actions." Her chin tilted up, pride a cold, bitter comfort in the face of her guilt.

"I'm not asking for an excuse," he returned quietly. "I'm asking for the reason behind those actions." The truth had never been so simple, and so impossible to say.

"I…" Zeris. Rhydian. Fear. Pain. She had so many reasons, and none of them sufficed to explain why she had stolen a horse. Why Proteus had almost died in her place. "I'm sorry, Proteus. I can't." It was a broken whisper, the best she could give.

"I don't believe that, Azeah," he murmured quietly in turn. In defense against the impossible grief that swam through her blood, Azeah welcomed the fury that blazed back to life in her. She pushed back from the table with an ill-tempered shriek of iron against stone, pacing away as her fingers dove into her hair, her voice betraying her fear and anger.

"Damn you, Proteus! Damn you and your trusting soul! What will you have left, at the end of it all? You place your faith in people, people like me who are undeserving of that incredible gift. And when I break that faith, I break your heart! How can I stand another weight of guilt in the scales of my soul?" With a barely controlled growl, she dropped her impotent hands to her sides, gazing out at the restless sea beyond the palace, beyond the land she had always loved.

"When will you learn, you foolish man?" she murmured with bone-deep exhaustion, incapable of facing him as she leaned against the stone wall, her arm wrapped around her waist, as if her soul spilled out of her and she hoped to hold herself together. "The last time you did something like this, you almost threw this country into chaos at the price of your life. Sinbad proved himself worthy; let me save you the trouble. I won't. I can't. I'm not some stray you can rescue and redeem. I've done what I can for you; now please just let me go." He may have been injured, but he still moved like a jungle cat. Azeah hadn't even known he'd moved until Proteus's hand rested on her shoulder, his soft boots silent on the stone.

"I do believe that's my choice, Azeah. But nothing you've said has discouraged me. If anything, your concern validates what I believe in you." Azeah just rolled her eyes, scoffing as she shrugged off his hand and stepping out into the soft breeze rippling off the sea. Bracing her hands against the marble rails, she looked back over her shoulder.

"How do you do it?" Proteus joined her, standing soldier straight as the tails of his tunic rippled in the breeze, the ends of his hair softly tossed in the fresh air.

"If I answer your question, will you answer mine?" he said, glancing down at her askance. Hesitant but curious, Azeah shrugged. Proteus must have taken it as assent, as he began speaking.

"I have found that people do the most extraordinary things when there is faith. I don't think well of everybody; I'm not that naïve. But I do believe that good souls, no matter how much time has passed or how deeply damaged, will choose the right path. And I believe you are a good soul, Azeah. Why else did you bring me back to the palace at your own risk, when it would have been far easier to leave me in the forest to die?" Azeah didn't answer his rhetorical question – she couldn't, not when she didn't really know the answer herself. Some long ago minor debt aside, she had sacrificed her brother for the well-being of a virtual stranger. Where was the honor in that?

"Blackmail," Azeah eventually blurted out. She dug her fingers into the stone, the strangled cry of her brother ripping through her memory. Proteus said nothing, and she found the words tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop them.

"Rhydian blackmailed me. He threatened my safety, and the safety of my younger brother. He told me nothing would happen if I was able to retrieve the Tear. I was unsuccessful, so the punishment falls to Zeris." It was nothing less than the truth; she merely omitted the history behind it.

"Why didn't you come to me, or the king? We could have helped you, Azeah." She hadn't believe that, not really. It wasn't that she thought Proteus was lying – Azeah had simply been drowning under Rhydian's control for too long to believe anyone outside could take a stand. Regardless, that had to end now. This was beyond her, and if she wanted any hope of saving Zeris, Azeah would have to trust Proteus. At least, with the most pertinent information.

"I couldn't then. But I am now. Rhydian has to be stopped, Proteus. I believe he's after your father's throne." She sensed more than saw the prince stiffen, as she couldn't quite force herself to drag her eyes away from her white-knuckled hands. Once she managed it, Azeah was taken aback by the ferocious intensity in Proteus's dark eyes.

"How?" he asked tersely, his eyes burning into hers.

"He's amassing an army. Mostly foreigners, bought from other countries or recruited from the tribes to the north. He has to take his time to avoid suspicion, and their main camp isn't within this kingdom's borders, or you would have known about it by now." Rubbing his temple where no doubt a headache brewed, one that matched the one thrumming along Azeah's skull, Proteus's brow furrowed as he contemplated her words.

"Why the Tear?" he eventually asked.

"Rhydian believes his victory likely, but he wants to assure it with divine help. He's become obsessed with the Tear, and has lusted after it for years."

"That doesn't make any sense," Proteus murmured. "The Tear of Artemis is a myth, a story told to children during festivals. And the stone in the library is a relic, just a piece of gemstone. Why risk so much for something so trivial?" Azeah simply shook her head.

"I doubt Rhydian is the same man you once knew. His loss of title and banishment broke something in him, and he's become twisted and warped. He clings to the idea of the Tear like a child to a toy. He's hinged everything on his possession of it." Quickly realizing how exhausted she was, Azeah straightened, glancing at the prince. His face had slowly paled as they had spoke, dark shadows etching under his eyes. If she was tired from the trial of telling the truth, then he must be haggard from hearing only half of it.

Their gaze held for a moment before she turned away, seating herself at the table again as she toyed with a few chickpeas on her plate. Proteus slowly joined her, Azeah's quick eyes catching the wince that shot like lightning across his face as he sat. There for a moment, then gone. Then he was settled, sipping his cold tea before wrinkling his nose and setting it back down.

"I will need to speak to my father about this, but I think it best if I deal with Rhydian. In the meantime, there is your future to consider. The council's ruling notwithstanding, I think it best if you stay here, Azeah. Not only for your safety, but I need your help." Azeah popped an olive into her mouth, slowly chewing as she contemplated the determined prince.

"You're surprisingly stubborn, did you know that?" Proteus smiled slowly.

"And you're just as honorable as I believed you to be. Thank you, Azeah," he murmured with a regal nod. Despite the conflict that flared in every corner of her mind, she found herself drawn to respond in kind.

"You're welcome, Proteus." For the briefest of moments, his fingers rested against the back of her hand, soft as a heartbeat. For a fraction of a second, she trusted him, with everything she had.

* * *

_OK, hear me out._

_I am fully aware of how long it's been since I updated. As many of you suggested, I started writing my own novel, and, in an attempt to accomplish as much as I could, devoted my undivided attention to it. It's been over a year now, and I've made very decent headway (about 1/3 of the way through). However, I've dealt with some very severe things recently (horse death, family illness, etc) that pretty much shot my inspiration in the face. In a limping attempt to get myself back into the game, I started toying around with other stories that didn't involve my book. Courage's Lullaby popped up as one of the oldies but goodies. After a reviewing and rereading, I was all "Yeah, this is pretty good. But I don't really remember where I was going with this."_

_Now, against writer logic, I don't outline. It's all up in my head. Scary thought. Which is fine when I'm hip-deep in a story; not so good when I come back after a year plus departure. However, a whim saved this fic._

_A long time ago, I wrote a tiny page and a half blurb from way far down in the story. That itty bitty thing saved CL, and reminded me of where the heck I was going with all this. So, going with a new trend I'm starting with my fanfiction, I wrote down a sort of movie synopsis of the story. That way, no matter how long I'm away, I can pick it up right where I left off and still have the same story I started with. I know that seems pretty obvious to some of you, but that was never my MO before, and it really didn't do anything for me back then._

_While my hiatus was not awesome of me, this new SOP promises one thing for you fans out there: this story will never die. The ending isn't some nebulous thing anymore. I know exactly where I'm going, and how I get there, in hard writing. All of you have been so patient and wonderful, and every time I get a review alert, I'm always surprised at this story's popularity and longevity. I hope that never goes away._

_I don't know when, but I will be picking up my book again. After 100+ pages in Word, I have no choice. And I will finish that book, dammit. So it's unlikely that I'll update CL once that starts again. But you guys have hung around this long; I like to think you'll see it through to the end. Think of this chapter as a Christmas/Holiday gift – it's the most precious thing I can give._

_Writing fanfiction is a need that I indulge in to keep my skills sharp, but all you fans make it an incredible joy. So if you just keep a little faith, you will see this story switched over to "Completed" one day. I swear to you on my craft._

_Hope you like it!_

_Love, Tango_


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